


the shape you made me

by deathlessaphrodite



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlessaphrodite/pseuds/deathlessaphrodite
Summary: Black had always been her colour. It made her look dour, older than she was, and set her apart from the other jewel-toned ladies of Orzammar’s court. Bhelen liked to joke that she had been born a widow.
Relationships: Female Aeducan/Gorim Saelac, Gorim Saelac & Warden
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	the shape you made me

**_“ELECTRA: Ah now there you mistake me. Shame I do feel. And I know there is something all wrong about me — believe me. Sometimes I shock myself. But there is a reason: you. You never let up this one same pressure of hatred on my life: I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth.” -_ ** **Sophocles, tr. by Anne Carson, from “Electra”**

Black had always been her colour. It made her look dour, older than she was, and set her apart from the other jewel-toned ladies of Orzammar’s court. Bhelen liked to joke that she had been born a widow. 

She removed her hairpin, letting her hair fall down freely over her shoulders. The pin was shaped like a dragon, a creature she had never and would never have the opportunity to see. The books said most of them were dead, anyway - hunted by nobles for sport, or for their bones and scales. The hairpin had been a gift, some cheap trinket from a surface trader’s stall, given to her long enough ago that she had no memory of who it was from. It was a sweet little thing, though, so she kept it. 

She heard the door click open, and turned to see Gorim entering, still dressed in his dinner clothes. She had given him the dagger belt he was wearing - rich, brown leather with gold stitching, the scabbard made of iron with silver filigree stretching elegant patterns across it. It was never something he would have bought for himself, even if he could afford it. People knew it was from her. 

“My lady,” he said, smiling. He had warm eyes, “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything,”

“Not at all,” She replied, smiling back. She put the pin in her jewelry box. Gorim had stopped bothering to knock when entering her chambers when they were eighteen, but had never forgotten his courtesies in other areas, “And how many times must I tell you to call me by my name?”

He just smiled, eyes crinkling, “You looked lovely tonight, my lady. If I might say so.”

“You might,” She replied, flopping back out to the bed, kicking her shoes off.

“You’ll crease your dress.” 

“It cost my father more than that new set of armour he got Trian for his nameday, I hear. My brother wasn’t pleased.” The dress was a light, black organza, sold by an Orlesian surface trader who had gone to her father directly. He had probably paid too much for it; father’s always wanted to buy nice things for their daughters, and he had no mind for bartering. The underskirt was gold silk, and it was trimmed with lace. It was a beautiful dress. Worth the money. 

She stretched, her arms above her head. Gorim sat down next to her, leaning back on one hand and looking at her curiously. His doublet was a deep cream. He wore no ornament in his hair or beard. 

Orzammar’s class system had been designed to keep people in their place. You could tell, from the cut of someone’s clothes, from the quality of their armour, the leather of their boots, who they were and what they were worth. The buttons on Gorim’s doublet said he was worth less than her. She didn’t know whether to believe them or not.

“We start drills for the expedition into the Deep Roads tomorrow. You should get some sleep,”

“As commander, I should be telling you that, surely.” 

“Future commander,” He smirked, “Not quite.” She smiled, reaching up and tucking his braid behind his ear. He twitched away, eyes watching the door. It hadn’t been so long ago that Trian had caught them necking, and forewent the traditional thrashing Gorim usually received to drag him up in front of the king, demanding an official punishment. 

Their father was a soft-hearted man when it came to his children. He wouldn’t permit the punishment, but he gave Gorim a talking-to that hadn’t yet left his ears. No doubt he worried what Trian would do if he caught them again. She could see her brother killing Gorim for the offense, truly - not that she would allow it. Trian was older, and the heir, but her sword was always close, and she was faster. 

It gave her pause that she could consider killing her own blood, so casually. She imagined doing the same to Bhelen, lifting a blade to his throat or driving it through his chest, and it made her skin crawl. Maybe it was only Trian she was willing to harm in such a way; maybe she would only commit such a crime for Gorim’s sake. 

Their father had killed his own brother for the throne, she reminded herself. Kinslaying was in their blood. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, his voice low. He had one hand in her hair, brushing the knots out from where her dragon-pin had held them, “You look worried over something.”

“Trian is an abominable lout,” She said. It’s all she could think to say. 

“A lout who will one day be king.”

“One day soon. My father is weak. Getting weaker.”

“You don’t think him suited for the position?” He sounded truly interested. What if she said yes? What would he say? 

“I think it doesn’t matter what I think. He’s the heir, and -”

“The presumed heir. The assembly aren’t under any obligation to vote for him after your father passes.”

“They have an obligation to Trian’s fist, and they know it. He’s a lout, but he isn’t stupid. He’ll have men in place before my father has even taken his last breath.”

“I would hope the assembly are smarter than to be cajoled by violence. There are more of them than there is of him. He’s only one man.”

She sighed, and turned her face away. Gorim would not understand. Trian had been raised with the belief that he would be king. He was the only man in Orzammar with an education preparing him for the throne, the only man taught by the king himself on the aspects of ruling some others might overlook. Other than herself and Bhelen, of course. The assembly would be foolish to turn away from him, however much of a fool he could be at times. 

“He’ll be a strong king, at least.” She said, standing. She brushed her dress off. Gorim had been right - it was creased. No matter. 

“As you say, my lady.” His words were tight. She turned to him, brows furrowed. 

“You know you might speak freely to me, Gorim. Say what you will.” 

“I have a doubt that you’d appreciate it, my lady,” He bowed, and kissed her hand. She wore no rings on it - she’d been rushing to get to dinner on time and hadn’t stopped to put any on. It reminded her of when she’d been a child, sitting unornamented between her brothers at every dinner, wishing desperately to be a grown up, to be one of the great ladies of the court, to find her way into the history books. Now she only wanted things to slow down, to stop for a moment so she could catch her breath. 

“And there are ears, my lady, everywhere. Some things are better said only when one can be sure they are alone.”

“There is nowhere in Orzammar one can be sure of that, and you know it.” She took her hand from his and turned from him, to the chest where she kept her nightclothes, pulling out a clean, white shift. 

She heard him bow again, his dagger belt clacking, “Goodnight, my Lady Aeducan.”

“Goodnight, Gorim.” She swallowed, and did not turn to watch him leave. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was having some writer's block so I thought I'd write a little thing about Aeducan and Gorim bc I love them. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> [My tumblr](https://seashell-hawke.tumblr.com/)


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